So, today, I streamed a quick review of my favorite Taoism book (besides the Tao Te Ching, of course), The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff!

It’s a short, funny, philosophical look at all of A.A. Milne’s classic Winnie the Pooh characters and how they each represent a Taoist concept. There’s also a sequel called The Te of Piglet, but I’ll have to review it later.

I hope you enjoy this concise and impromptu review!

Don’t forget that my new community-written publication, The Daoist Online, goes live tomorrow! TDO is created by writers who want to share their faith, religion, philosophical thoughts, spiritual nature, or personal journeys with everyone.

People of all backgrounds should have a place to come together, not to be judged, but to share and learn! Subscribe here for one new article per day.

Even though I’m publishing other writers at TDO, my personal work and writing will always remain here at The Taoist Corner.

So, stay here to receive my writing, and there if you want everyone else’s writing. Or both!

I’ll see you all next week with a return to Tao Te Ching deep dives!

-Patrick

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If you like my writing, please tell me what you think by leaving a comment, liking, or sharing.

Do you want to help others learn about Tao?

I’d love your support at any level that is comfortable for you.

$1 per month ($10/year)
$2 per month ($20/year)
$3 per month ($30/year)
$4 per month ($40/year)
$5 per month ($50/year)

If you like my writing, please tell me what you think by leaving a comment, liking, or sharing.

I remember the first time I lost my mind. I was 24 years old and my girlfriend just dumped me. Unlike previous breakups where I was sad and then simply moved on, this time I was completely crushed, and I could not explain it. My emotions seemed to lose all control, and I wasn’t able to stop crying at times.

I listened to all of my favorite music, but none of it helped. Instead, I would shake, unable to get up or move. Eventually, I visited my mom and stayed there a few days. I remember sitting in a warm bath just trying to eke out an evening without losing control of my emotions again. I’m not sure it was me or my mom that suggested counseling, but my college provided free sessions, so I signed up.

At the time, I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for. Maybe I hoped for some profound insight, a guiding light that would illuminate the tangled mess of my emotions. Or perhaps I was searching for a voice outside my own—a voice that could articulate what I was too overwhelmed to say, to offer the kind of clarity that had become a stranger to me. Instead, I found myself facing someone only slightly older than me, tasked with untangling threads she may not have even faced herself.

I was terribly nervous for my first session and had a million questions. Was she going to go deep into my psyche? Was it like the movies where I sit on a long couch and ramble while they make small notes? The reality was much less exciting.

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My first session was with a young, curly blonde-haired woman. She introduced herself and stated she was a grad student. Yes, the person I needed to let it all out to was a student just a year or two older than me. A little taken aback, I began to unload — disability, frustration with women, broken family life, friends, and everything else in between. In response, the counselor said phrases like, “I see,” “OK,” and “How did that make you feel?”

This continued for 30 minutes until the timer went off. With our session over, she thanked me for coming by and said I may not have her next time, but they usually “try to keep students with the same counselor.” The thought of having to explain all of my pain to someone else the next week was not exciting.

Luckily, I kept seeing the same woman the next week and filled her in on what was going on in my life. Again, she said phrases like, “Oh, that’s great,” and, “What are you going to do now?” It was at that moment I realized she hadn’t said anything in over an hour of me speaking. So, I asked her a direct question.

I needed clarity. Something concrete. I wanted her to point me in a direction, any direction, because my own internal compass felt broken. But what I got instead was a reflection—a blank mirror that offered nothing back but my own scattered thoughts.

“What do you think I should do?”

“Well…” She paused. “That’s really up to you. You should do whatever you feel is best.”

“Right, but I came here for help with an objective observer. So, what are your thoughts on the situation?”

“So…” She paused. “I think you’re doing good and moving in the right direction.”

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I appreciated the encouragement, but I really thought she was going to say something useful. I had expected direction—a signpost to guide me out of the labyrinth of my own mind. Instead, I was left circling the same questions, trapped within the echo of my own voice. Were my expectations too high? Maybe, but if that’s true, then why was I going?

She didn’t say or do anything my best friend, mother, or internet stranger did. After my second session, I never went back. It had been three weeks, and the shaking had stopped. Music was slightly enjoyable now, and the sun felt warm on my skin again.

Did it work? I don’t feel like it did.

Almost 20 years later, we placed my 13-year-old son in counseling for behavior and social issues.

Walking into the counseling office with Grayson felt like stepping into a time capsule. The sterile waiting room, the soft-spoken counselor, the encouraging but ultimately empty affirmations—it all felt eerily familiar. I sat beside him, nodding along, watching the same pattern unfold.

After about a month, I checked in with my son to see how he was getting along and if he felt any progress had been made with his counselor.

“Dad? Is this what counseling is? I just sit there and talk, and the other guy doesn’t say anything?”

“Well, that’s what it was for me when I took a few sessions,” I said.

“So, just talking out loud about everything I think about is supposed to help?”

I paused. That statement, “…everything I think about,” struck a chord in my mind. Not wanting to downplay the useful and noble profession of counseling in front of my son, who might need it in the future, I said, “Well, some people can find it useful, and some might not. What kind of person do you think you are?”

“I don’t think it’s doing anything useful,” Grayson said. “I talk to you and mom all the time about everything. So, this guy isn’t saying much of anything and doesn’t even really give me advice. He gave me some breathing exercises, but you had already taught me those. When I told him that, he was just like, oh, okay cool, and we moved on to talking more about school.”

I never took him back to counseling. His phrase, however, stayed with me for weeks. Was I missing something? Was he? Or were we simply the wrong audience for this kind of therapy—people who had spent years interrogating our own minds and had grown accustomed to searching for answers within, rather than from an outside source? Why did so many people, my family members included, find talk counseling helpful, but my son and I did not?

In the weeks that followed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were missing something. Was it the process of counseling that was flawed, or was it that some people simply don’t need to speak their thoughts out loud to make sense of them? The more I considered it, the more the answer felt obvious.

We already talk all the time about our thoughts and emotions, but not out loud.

My mind races every day, all day. From sun up until sundown, I think, question, ponder, and wonder about everything I need to do or might do later. I hold entire conversations in my head between myself and my wife, children, coworkers, colleagues, and old friends I haven’t seen in years. I pretend I’m on a talk show being interviewed about current news or a social media craze. It never ends.

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One of my favorite sci-fi movies from the early 2000s is K-PAX, starring Kevin Spacey. In it, Spacey plays a mental patient who claims to be an alien inhabiting another man’s body. One of his amazing abilities is to seemingly cure a man who was considered to have an incurable mental disorder. When questioned, Spacey states, “Every being in the universe knows right from wrong,” and that he simply showed the man the truth about himself, allowing him to confront and resolve his internal conflicts.

In the days following my revelation, I found myself turning to familiar texts—words that had guided me through other turbulent times. I was seeking not just wisdom but a sense of validation, a confirmation that this inner dialogue I relied on wasn’t a flaw but a tool, perhaps even a strength. One passage, in particular, stood out, as if it had been waiting for me to rediscover it.

Tao Te Ching chapter 15 (Stephen Mitchell)
Do you have the patience to wait until your mud settles and the water is clear? Can you remain unmoving until the right action arises by itself?

你能静心等待直到泥沙沉淀、水清澈明净吗？你能安静不动直到正确的行动自然产生吗？

When I am patient and allow my thoughts and emotions to settle, I see clearer, like the condensation on a glass evaporating. By speaking to myself and running different scenarios, I understand different paths, like Google Maps for my mind.

Sometimes, we don’t need anyone else to tell us the answer because we already know it. We only need to stop long enough to feel our thoughts, sense our purpose, and realize that all actions can be effortless (无为, wú wéi), all thoughts are valid, and we can be masters of our own minds.

Perhaps the key isn’t in finding someone to listen but in learning to listen to ourselves. The noise of everyday life can drown out the quiet wisdom within us, but when we allow our minds to settle, we can find clarity and direction. Like the still water that reflects the sky, we can reflect the truth already present within us—if we’re willing to wait, to listen, and to trust that we already hold the answers we seek.

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Join me as I tell the tale of how The Taoist Online started, grew, and ultimately declined.

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How It Started

A new social network named Mastodon appeared, and I wanted to give it a chance since my Twitter days had long passed. So, I opened my own website and began to write, sharing the posts through the new social network. I created the moniker The Taoist Online since Taoism (Daoism) is the lens I choose to see the world through.

Instead of everyone ignoring me, visitors to the site grew quickly and caught the attention of Debra G. Harman. She was extremely friendly and supportive and was well-connected to many other excellent writers on a platform called Medium. Surprisingly, I joined Medium in 2013, just a year after it launched. I wrote an article about esports and moved on.

Eventually, I decided to give Medium another try, opened a new account, and looked around for fellow thinkers who wrote about Taoism, philosophy, or just general spirituality. However, finding publications and users was difficult, and to some degree, still is. I didn’t see much of an audience, so I did what everyone does — Googled it.

“How to grow your audience on Medium.” A Google search that changed my life.

One of the results suggested creating a publication, as the algorithm preferred accepted articles. I searched Medium for a publication about Taoism and didn’t find one. Next, I searched for philosophy and spiritualism but didn’t find anything that fit my work. With only one option left, I created a publication and selfishly took the name from my old Wix website—The Taoist Online.

Through various Discord channels and chat rooms, I discovered a few other writers looking for a home. There was a teenager from England who loved stoicism, a kindred spirit from the U.S. who loved Taoism, and a woman in Brazil who wrote about veganism. Soon, I had dozens of writers who wanted to help and share their journeys with the world. I accepted all of them.

In only our third month, The Taoist Online (TTO) reached 140,000 monthly viewers!

My editing queue exploded, and I brought on several editors, whom I tipped each month with my Medium payments.

By the end of our first year, we reached 190,000 monthly viewers and accepted hundreds of writers who published hundreds of articles each month.

Everyone was happy and healthy and loved the hard work. Tens of thousands of strangers came together each month to read, share, and connect regardless of religion, faith, nationality, race, or gender. My publication, stupidly named after myself, became a massive force for change and wisdom online.

Until it wasn’t.

Darkness Always Follows Light

Medium provides four tools for running a publication.

1. The ability to create publications with a home page.

2. The ability for writers to submit articles to a publication.

3. The ability for publishers to accept or deny articles.

4. Private notes from editors to the writer and vice versa.

That’s it.

As a publication owner, did you receive 50+ article submissions today, and do you need to filter or sort them? Sorry, that feature isn’t on the list. You should make a spreadsheet. Then make sure you all share and maintain it together, forever.

Do you need a method to communicate with your editors that isn’t public comments on articles? Sorry, that isn’t on the list either. Every private comment you leave for the writer, every editor will also be able to see. You should make a Discord or Slack workspace, or email each other all the time.

Want to communicate with everyone who is a writer? Sorry, that’s not on the list. You’ll need to find them one at a time and ask them your question, or create an announcement page on your publication homepage and hope everyone reads it. I hope you have an email address for them, or else you’ll go to private notes, where the notification can get buried under all of the other Medium notifications they receive.

Despite these missing features, my team and I still managed to create one of the largest publications on philosophy and spirituality. However, running a pub like this caused personal problems between editors, writers who refused to follow rules, a never-ending email chain, and eventually, resentment.

I resented Medium for not helping the people they depended on to keep their platform profitable, and writers for causing drama. I resented the publication for taking so much time away from my children so that I could edit, write, and manage. I wanted it to stop, but felt guilty if I stepped away. I owed my writers results and needed to carry on. Eventually, however, I couldn’t take it anymore.

Taoism teaches us to let things come and then calmly let them go. Despite the money, notoriety, and success, I lost my love for writing, and that‘s how I knew it was time to go. So, in March 2024, I started an extended break to regain my passion.

Hiatus and Return

By December, I found myself in the middle of a nervous breakdown, and I was placed back on anxiety medication. I spent the next 90 days learning new routines at home with my family, remembering how to breathe, and finding joy in rereading Tao Te Ching. I even wrote an article about politics — something I always refused to do.

I returned to Medium in early February 2025, hoping to find a calmer, more enjoyable platform. While I was happy to write again, I was not happy with the state of affairs. Most of the editing team had left or stopped working, except for one. Article submissions were far from their previous highs, and payments were down for everyone, everywhere. TTO views per month sank 90% to 20,000.

I connected with old writing friends and found many had moved to Substack, so I also posted a few articles there. To my surprise, my stories resonated, too! I also met a fantastic group of talented individuals. So, while one platform felt alive and fun and created features that writers and readers could use, the other continued its decline.

They hadn’t implemented a single change to how editing queues were managed or how publications were maintained. Medium hadn’t created any new forms of revenue other than charging more for the same subscriptions in the hope that a few extra pennies could be shared around to those readers you read. They decided ‘meta’ articles (posts about Medium) weren’t worth paying for at all, in hopes that would boost payments to others.

Next, they removed payments from the referral program, which had long since retired but whose monthly payments had continued. Nearly everyone I knew lost views, reads, and payments—their audience evaporated. We all exported our email subscribers and took them to new platforms in an attempt to hold onto the communities we so desperately built.

The final straw, however, occurred secretly around April 15, 2025. Medium updated a support article regarding how the “Follower” and “Subscriber” features worked. Previously, followers and subscribers were separate. A follower worked like Twitter, adjusting your algorithmic feed to show you similar content. Subscribers would receive emails for every article you published.

The ability to export your subscribers’ emails and take the list with you is a standard and key feature in the publishing industry. If you want to give a TED Talk, get ready to be asked how many people are on your subscriber list. If you want a book deal or a public speaking engagement, how many are on your list? Whether it’s from Substack, Vocal, Ghost, or any other major writing platform, the list can always be taken with you.

While video social sites like TikTok or YouTube would never think about giving out subscriber email addresses, taking your email list with you is standard practice everywhere that encourages long-form content… but not on Medium. Not anymore.

Light Always Follows Darkness

I began writing on Medium to share what I learned. I created a publication to allow others to learn, share, and grow, but how can we do that when writers can’t control who sees their work?

How can we do that when readers don’t even see the writers they love in their feed? There’s not even a tab to see ONLY people you follow! You either let everyone you follow email blast you, hope they magically appear in your homepage feed, or you find your own method of connecting, just like I’ve always done — find my own way.

I love writing, sharing, learning, and growing; I don’t love Medium. Instead, I love the idea of Medium — a place to gather and care for ourselves and each other.

I realized this week that TTO can no longer fulfil its original purpose. The people who worked tirelessly for it are mostly gone, and the audience who needs to read its wisdom and knowledge can’t because Medium makes it increasingly difficult to do so as wave after wave of AI-generated garbage floods its submission queues.

I can’t ask any more writers to join a publication when the platform it sits on does so many things to make life difficult for young talent. As Medium CEO Tony Stubblebine stated recently, I have two options.

1. Take TTO private with my website.

2. Move to a more open and accepting writing platform.

I choose option two.

Medium is the Apple of writing platforms — clean, simple, and incredibly easy to open an account and immediately start writing. However, Medium has also begun to take on the bad aspects of Apple. No new features that users desperately need; platform lock-in; removing features people loved (colorizing your homepage, for example); deciding what is allowed to make money; not understanding the dangers and power AI has had on their industry.

The Taoist Online Will Return

Starting June 1, 2025, I will move The Taoist Online to Substack as a newsletter. Moving away from the online magazine format means I can slow down submissions and spend time with each article. This lessens the stress I place upon my family and allows each article to breathe. It also means that anyone subscribing to The Taoist Online on Substack will always stay with us no matter where we go because Substack allows us to export email lists. Should Substack change this, I’ll gladly move on and take our readers with us.

Never again will I give a writing platform the ability to gatekeep everything so many have worked for; everything that I have worked for.

I don’t believe Medium has the best interests of readers and writers anymore.

Substack isn’t a perfect platform by any means, and it has its own quirks, problems, and feature issues, but at least I see them trying. Podcasts, video hosting, notes, and many other features are created for anyone who needs them.

The possibilities are so great that even if it fails, I will have tried one final time to make TTO what it once was, what I always intended it to be.

A free community publication for sharing and learning about philosophy, wisdom, and spirituality.

I hope that you join us there, too. We all need someone to pick up, to guide us, and a place to share our struggles. Let’s do it together at The Taoist Online.

Thank you, all. Goodbye Medium.

Do you want to help others learn about Tao?

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If you like my writing, please tell me what you think by leaving a comment, liking, or sharing.

Do you want to encourage more learners to follow the Tao?

I’d absolutely love your support at any level that’s comfortable for you. Even if it’s only $1 per month.

$1 per month ($10/year)
$2 per month ($20/year)
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$5 per month ($50/year)

It’s important to remember that not everything in life is about ancient texts or masters. While it is absolutely essential to learn from those who lived before us, or created a movement that has lasted 1,000 years, it is imperative to live for today, too.

I’ve discovered many talented, and humbling writers on my journey, but no matter how many I find, there’s always more to read.

Wisdom is not locked inside one philosophy, genre, or idea; wisdom is found in all under heaven, or, 天下 (tiān xià) in Mandarin. No religion, including Daoism, can claim to understand everything all the time. So, it’s essential to broaden your scope.

Modern social networks are masters of clouding your vision or covering your ears, but if you take time to look, read, and listen to the world around you, you’ll find kind, passionate, and terrific voices.

Previously, I thanked 10 writers who made a significant impact on me, my writing, or my career. Today, I want to celebrate new members in my life. Whether it’s their work, personality, or willingness to care, each of the following writers has touched my soul in the most joyous ways.

So, please indulge me today as I change topics from philosophy and family to friends and thankfulness.

Let’s get into it.

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(The Daily Chocolate Taoist ™)

When I first joined Substack, the platform didn’t have leaderboards, and it was nearly impossible for me to find anyone else writing about Taoism, but a quick year later, I found The Daily Chocolate Taoist. The first thing I loved about his work is that he spells Taoism with a T instead of with the more modern D — just like I do!

Beyond the self-satirical “chocolate” label (he is black), Diamond-Michael’s work is thought-provoking and intellectual, and it is exactly what I needed to start over again. While we may teach similar lessons or write about the same topic, each of us has a unique voice and perspective on the world. He is a kindred spirit in Tao, and I’m so thankful for him.

He also wrote about me recently, too! Be sure to read it HERE!

His writing gave me hope that there was an audience for Taoist writing on Substack and maybe, if I rededicated myself, I could also find an audience.

(Death & Birds)

The first Substack writer I ever subscribed to was Chloe Hope. I remember looking at the philosophy leaderboard, and the title Death and Birds immediately caught my eye. Generally, I equate birds with life, not death! The dichotomy of the two words was so interesting that I had to read it.

To my surprise, Chloe gently narrates her writing with the soft, slow, eloquent tone of a truly gifted woman. I could listen to her speak all day! I joked once that it should be illegal for someone to be talented at writing, speaking, and have a British accent at the same time. Her tremendous talent for narration pushed me to perform my own narration, a practice I still do today.

The other day, I was standing in my kitchen with my wife when my phone received a notification for Chloe’s latest. I scared my wife by exclaiming, a little too loudly, “Yay!”

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Another Daoist learner, but with the more common and modern D. I remember Changxin as one of my first followers who really interacted with my posts, notes, and chat. I love hearing from him, whether it is an emoji, a like, or a comment.

His long-form, deep, and spiritual works should not be taken lightly. I can only imagine how much time it takes him to write each post. His keen analytics and knowledge of Taoist history and culture are skills I may never match, but strive for every day.

You are a bastion of Daoist wisdom and a light in my spiritual journey. Thank you for everything you do, Changxin!

Marcus discovered me long before I found him. He told me once that he came across one of my archived pieces months before I returned, but subscribed anyway. I imported all of my Medium articles, wrote a handful more, and left for a year’s sabbatical.

As a consistent reader and commenter, I’m always happy to hear from Marcus. He is a talented comedic writer, and I wish I could multiply him 10x! We all need more humor, especially in the current political climate the world has been thrust into.

Whether it’s writing about Bigfoot, writing in a Tornado, or an idiot’s guide to Substack, Marcus has laughs waiting for you. This man is going places, so stop by and read his latest.

(The Zen Journal)

Zen and Taoism share a family tree — branches on the trunk of accepting life instead of always trying to control it. No one on Substack shows the wisdom of Zen quite like the urban monk.

I know this is true because I watched his subscriber count skyrocket literally overnight! When I first discovered him, he had fewer subscribers than I did, but one day, I checked again, only to find him with hundreds, now thousands, more.

He writes very personally and connects his wisdom of Zen to his journey, much like I do. Even though we may see the world through a slightly different lens, you can always count on the urban monk to help you open your eyes to the fantastic world around you.

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(Permission Slips)

When I watch Tamy’s live streams or read any of her work, I see a vision of how I could be in the future. She’s all in, all the time. That level of authenticity is hard to find in an online world full of supposed gurus, yogis, and masters, but Tamy is the real deal.

I love how she invites her viewers into her space, and I’ve tried to emulate it on my streams, but it never quite feels the same. She offers classes, lessons, and everything in between. I wish I could provide similar gifts, too.

I often think about what my spiritual journey will look like when I turn 50. My kids will have all graduated from high school and moved on, but I’ll still be here. I hope I’ll be more like Tamy — always giving everything to everyone.

(The Alchemy of Becoming)

Emily Roy’s writing on Substack is a radiant beacon for the neurodivergent and the soulfully rebellious. Emily’s voice is clear, blending mysticism with raw defiance to uplift those who need it.

Her ability to combine spiritual insight with cultural critique is unmatched, and I love every word!

Her poetic prose challenges conformity and celebrates authenticity, and I appreciate how strong and steady her writing makes me feel. It’s inspirational, even when times are hard.

Emily crafts a space for the wild through essays that pulse with energy. If you need to feel lifted, here’s your writer.

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(Mindful Moments)

One day, I was more frustrated with my job than normal. I’m always careful about how much of my personal life I share, especially when I’m upset. I was raised never to complain out loud, so learning to let go has been difficult.

However, on this particular day, I was extraordinarily angry and needed some support. Grace came to the rescue! She was firm and truthful, but kind and motivational too — a sign of a gifted individual.

I watch every live stream and wish her all the best with her two-day retreat coming up at the end of the month! I know it will be a huge success, and Grace deserves it. She has a long journey ahead of her, but with such a great start, I know she’ll go far!

In celebrating these writers, I’m reminded that wisdom and inspiration are not confined to ancient texts but thrive in the voices of today. Their unique perspectives enrich my journey, proving that connection and gratitude can illuminate even the busiest modern world.

Each writer, from to , brings a distinct light to my path. Their words, humor, and authenticity remind me to stay open, listen, and cherish the vibrant community we’re building together.

I’m grateful for these kindred spirits who share their hearts through Substack. They inspire me to live fully in the present, to embrace diverse wisdom, and to keep writing, knowing there’s always more to learn and celebrate.

Do you want to help others learn about Tao?

I’d love your support at any level that is comfortable for you.

$1 per month ($10/year)
$2 per month ($20/year)
$3 per month ($30/year)
$4 per month ($40/year)
$5 per month ($50/year)

If you like my writing, please tell me what you think by leaving a comment, liking, or sharing.

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Weekly Forecast

Greetings, dear friends!

I'm very excited about this week! School is winding down for my kids, and work is heating up as my team and I move into a new department. I'm not sure what the future holds, but at least I can keep writing, recording, and sharing my journey with you all.

I want to leave text analysis behind this week and focus on living life instead. It's great to study the ancient masters and the secrets they unlock, but it's also essential to live our lives for today and be present in them. So, this week, I have two different kinds of articles for you with an accidentally busy Monday.

Monday

1. Article: Revisiting My Anchor Points: My favorite new writers and what they mean to me.

2. Co-stream: I've been invited to Substack show, The Morning Whatever. In this episode, we'll remember our days on Medium.com, how we started, and what lies ahead. Join us at 8 AM Central/9 AM Eastern!

3. Interview stream - I'll be interviewing about her past, future, and writing journey. Join me at 5:30 PM central/6:30 PM eastern.

Tuesday

Podcast - Narration and commentary on revisiting my anchor points.

Wednesday

Article - Why talk therapy has never worked for me or my son.

Thursday

Podcast - Narration and commentary on talk therapy.

Monthly Gift for Paid Subscribers

If you're one of my paid subscribers, make sure you check your inbox. I sent you a special gift on Friday: a free copy of my book, A Beginner's Guide to Taoism, and a workspace setup video! Just use the buttons in that email, and I'll send the book over. It's also available in print on Amazon and Barnes & Noble and as an eBook on all major platforms.

Would you like monthly gifts from me, too? Please consider supporting me for as little as $1 per month or $10 per year.

Every dollar helps me get closer to spending more time with my family by leaving the corporate world behind and sharing everything I’ve learned with everyone online for free.

That dream might seem a mile away, but as Laozi said, a journey of 1,000 miles begins with a single step.

Do you want to encourage more learners to follow the Tao?

I’d absolutely love your support at any level that’s comfortable for you. Even if it’s only $2 per month.

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Read the article HERE

Subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or most other podcast networks.

Do you want to encourage more learners to follow the Tao?

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$1 per month ($10/year)
$2 per month ($20/year)
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Nothing is more annoying than walking across campus and seeing someone with a microphone yelling at a crowd of agitated college kids. During my time at the University of North Texas, the yeller was usually someone from Denton Bible Church, a prominent Christian church just a few minutes down University Drive.

I remember one particular day when I decided to stop and listen instead of zoning out in my headphones—not like I could completely drown out his yelling with my iPod earphones anyway.

The fastest way to gather a crowd of people around you is to talk about sex and how everyone is going to hell. It worked. Around 100 young adults gathered, leaving a large space for the speaker to pace around. Looking back, it reminds me of an internet troll in real life. For those who don’t know, an internet troll is someone whose only purpose for commenting on content is to cause controversy. They may not believe their own message, but they might. That not-knowing is part of the trick. So is making everyone mad. The more clicks and views the comment receives, the happier the troll becomes.

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The church speaker that day was in a similar position, although he was brave enough to show his face, albeit behind a pair of sunglasses and a cop standing next to him for crowd control.

He complained about our sex lives and how we shouldn’t have them, gay marriage (illegal in Texas then), and the legality of abortion—the standard talking points for the Christian movement in 2005.

After listening for a few minutes, I noticed my rhetoric professor was watching from the edge of our nearby language arts building. As a skilled and dangerous orator, I knew Professor Treat had opinions that didn’t match the speakers’. I approached and asked, “Are you going to say anything to him? I’m sure you could talk circles around this guy, professor.”

He glanced at me with a side eye and said with a chuckle, “No.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because it won’t serve a purpose. Even if I said something he didn’t know, or proved a logical fallacy in his reasoning, he could just save face by lying about it or claiming ‘God’s will.” And with that, Dr. Treat parted ways with the annoying speaker.

I’ll never forget that afternoon. In my agitated and excited state, I was ready for battle! Dr. Treat and I on one side, and the annoying little man in sunglasses on the other. A battle of wits and brains! Looking back, I’m sure I would have made a fool of myself if I had engaged with the speaker.

No one needs to stand on a sidewalk, yelling their beliefs, hoping to convince someone of their worldview. You only need to lead by example. The people in your life—friends, family, co-workers— they already know you and your actions.

If you want to share your beliefs or way of life with someone, put yourself into their world and let your nature shine through the haze. Laozi, the author of Tao Te Ching, the seminal text of Taoism, knew this and wrote about it in chapter 56.

To discover how and why, I’ll use Derek Lin's translation, which unpacks not only the words but also the chapter's Chinese form.

Let’s get into it.

Derek Lin
Those who know do not talk
Those who talk do not know

知者不言，言者不知
Zhì zhě bù yán, yán zhě bùzhī

This is my favorite quote from the Tao Te Ching, but it’s often used as a weapon online, especially on forums like Reddit. Anytime a learner expresses a belief, it’s immediately met with this quote as a rebuttal. Online trolls use it as a kind of ace-of-spades, the instantly win playing card.

However, as we read onward, the following line allows us to see its true meaning. Not as a weapon, but as guidance.

Derek Lin
Close the mouth
Shut the doors
Blunt the sharpness
Unravel the knots
Dim the glare
Mix the dust
This is called mystic oneness

塞其兑，閉其門，挫其銳，解其分，和其光，同其塵，是謂玄同
Sāi qí duì, bì qí mén, cuò qí ruì, jiě qí fèn, hé qí guāng, tóng qí chén, shì wèi xuán tóng

The key in this verse is the repetitive direction to undo or lessen. Close mouths, doors, dull sharp tools, and more are just a few of the examples from 2,500 years ago, but can you think of others in your own life that we can undo? Turn off your phone, put down your tablet, turn off your TV, and don’t see that one friend who keeps convincing you to make decisions you always regret. So, what is mystic oneness?

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The four symbols are “shì wèi,” (that is) “xuán” (mysterious) “tóng” (same). However, just as “shì wèi” means “That is” when taken together, xuán tóng together represent a deep-rooted Taoist concept and are not meant as two distinct words. This Oneness occurs when all forms of division are overcome—a state of profound unity. When we lose self/other, subject/object, good/bad, and other dualities, we align ourselves with the natural flow of Tao. Now that we understand Oneness, let’s revisit the first verse, but modify it with our new understanding.

Those who know Oneness don’t speak of it; they live and feel it.
Those who must talk to express oneness don’t have it.

They don’t have it because words are not from the Tao. Words are simple sounds humans created for communication and coordination. A tree is not “tree” in the Tao. I know this is true because 1,000 languages call trees something else. If a name were universal, each language would maintain the word, as its obviousness would be apparent.

Derek Lin
They cannot obtain this and be closer
They cannot obtain this and be distant
They cannot obtain this and be benefited
They cannot obtain this and be harmed
They cannot obtain this and be valued
They cannot obtain this and be degraded

故不可得而親，不可得而踈；不可得而利，不可得而害；不可得而貴，不可得而賤
Gù bùkě dé ér qīn, bùkě dé ér shū; bùkě dé ér lì, bùkě dé ér hài; bùkě dé ér guì, bùkě dé ér jiàn

It’s important to note that each translation of the above passage differs significantly from the others. Each translator attempts to “bring the message home” by adapting its meaning, particularly with the first line. Here are just a few examples.

David Hinton
It can’t be embraced and can’t be ignored,

Gia-Fu Feng
He who has achieved this state
Is unconcerned with friends and enemies

Stephen Mitchell
Be like the Tao.
It can’t be approached or withdrawn from

The Chinese does not contain the word for ‘he’ as in Gia-Fu Feng’s, or ‘Tao’ as in Stephen Mitchell’s. Notice the repetition of 不可 (bùkě) in each statement. Bùkě is a negating phrase that means cannot, not able to, or possible, and it begins each statement. Therefore, Derek Lin comes the closest to its proper translation.

Rephrased, it states that you cannot obtain oneness and be valued because there is nothing inherently or naturally valuable—if all is valuable in Tao, then nothing is valuable. You cannot obtain oneness and be disrespected because you do not consider yourself respected above others.

The wise man, the person who follows Tao, sees things and people as they are. No good or bad; no me vs. him; no mine or his. The sage knows this is true because the Tao shows him, but does not tell him.

Derek Lin
Therefore, they become honored by the world

故為天下貴
Gù wéi tiānxià guì

Here, Derek adds a few extra words to prove the point. Literally, the phrase says, “Therefore, be all under heaven noble.” When I move around the words to match English phrasing and remember the context of one who follows Tao, I can restate it as, “Therefore, everyone in the world considers him noble.” I use him, but she or any singular pronoun can work, too.

Chapter 56 outlines how a person should live their life in relation to those around them, just as Dr. Treat taught me 20 years ago. Don’t engage with your words; engage with your mind. Be still, open your heart, but not your mouth. Share what you have learned, but not by standing on a sidewalk and yelling; lead through your kindness and hospitality.

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The irony of writing words to teach someone to stop using their words is not lost on me. However, we are all human; language is how we communicate across long distances.

In the end, the lesson from that day on campus, echoed by Laozi’s wisdom in the Tao Te Ching, is clear: true influence comes not from shouting your beliefs, but from embodying them. Dr. Treat’s restraint taught me that engaging with a troll, whether on a soapbox or a screen, often fuels their fire. Instead, live with quiet integrity, letting your actions radiate through the lives of those around you, aligning with the oneness of Tao.

Dr. Treat was my favorite professor, and he almost convinced me to stay in college for graduate school, but instead, I chose to start a family and move away. We used to run into each other at bars on Friday nights, and discuss Aristotelian logic, pick apart Hillary Clinton’s speeches, or chat about ancient Greece and the sophists. I loved how he spoke, but more than his words, it was how he spent time with me and shared his journey.

With a baby on the way with my 19-year-old pregnant girlfriend, I needed all the life advice he offered— one beer after another! I wonder if he knows how much those nights meant to me that semester?

His quiet mentorship, from campus to barstool chats, taught me that true influence flows from actions, not arguments. By embodying humility and connection, he showed me how to align with the Tao’s oneness, a lesson I still carry today.

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If you like my writing, please tell me what you think. Do you agree with my interpretation of chapter 56? Did I leave anything out? Let me know!

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When my first child was born, Madison, I figured out how to rock her, when to feed her, and learned which type of cry meant which action she needed. When my son was born, Grayson, I realized little of what I had previously learned mattered to him. He liked to be rocked differently, enjoyed his bottle at a slightly warmer temperature, and did not enjoy smashed strawberries like Madison.

When my third and final child, Allison, was born, I learned that none of what I had discovered with my previous two children mattered to her. She wanted to be driven around in my car to fall asleep, did not enjoy being rocked, and wanted to walk before learning to crawl.

Nothing about my children seemed to be the same, besides the fact that they were human babies and mine. Even though they were created by the same woman and man, raised in the same manner, and used many of the same toys and clothes, each became an amazingly unique individual. Regardless of their differences, I loved all three the same.

I protected, nurtured, educated, and guided each child with every ounce of love in my soul. All three are now teenagers and living their best lives. Madison joined the color guard in the high school band, Grayson joined a community volleyball league and loves competitive Fortnite, and Allison creates amazing works of art for an eleven-year-old, plays volleyball, and loves acting. Yet, I still treat them with the same respect, dignity, and empathy.

The Tao, or the way of the universe, is the same as the love I give to my children. Chapter 49 of Tao Te Ching, the seminal text of Taoism, teaches us how to behave toward others and treat them equally, no matter their beliefs or how they treat us. Today, I’ll use translations from Feng, Lin, and Hinton.

Let’s get into it.

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Tao Te Ching is written with 81 chapters and divided into two parts. Part one (chapters 1-37) explores the nature of Tao and its ineffable, eternal, and natural way. It speaks to the nature of reality, the universe, and how to align your life. Part two, however, turns towards more actionable venues such as government, ruling a country or people, and the Tao within human life. It’s here, during part two, we find chapter 49 — a lesson on how to live among the people.

Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English
The sage has no mind of his own.
He is aware of the needs of others.

Derek Lin
The sages have no constant mind
They take the mind of the people as their mind.

David Hinton
A sage’s mind is never his own:
he makes the hundred-fold people’s mind his mind.

Key to this verse is the phrase 百姓 (bǎixìng), which means ‘people’ and 心 (xīn), which translates to ‘heart.’ The text is instructing us to make other people’s hearts our own. Not in a murderous sense, but metaphorically. To be of one heart is to love another as you love yourself.

Compassion, empathy, and kindness are virtues we often give ourselves but deny to others. Laozi, the legendary author, teaches that if you live through Tao and allow Tao to outwardly manifest through your actions, these traits will follow you not just to yourself but to everyone you meet.

Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English
I am good to people who are good.
I am also good to people who are not good.
Because Virtue is goodness.

Derek Lin
Those who are good, I am good to them
Those who are not good, I am also good to them
Thus the virtue of goodness

David Hinton
I treat the noble with nobility
and the ignoble too:
such is the nobility of Integrity.

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In the second verse, we learn how Tao, and thereby we, should treat those who are different ideologically. Remember, Tao is not moral; it does not conform to our human-created, arbitrary rules of what is good or bad. The Chinese language contains 之 (Zhī), which is the subordinate particle of what comes before.

A subordinate particle is a word that shows the relationship between two clauses, and, in this context, the two clauses are ‘my good’ and ‘people’s good.’ Because of the word 善 (shàn, to be good to or to treat as good), we know our goodness should be given to other people who are also good.

In the second half of verse two, however, Laozi tells us to be good to those who are not good (不善者, bùshàn zhě, not good). Why do you believe he wrote this? In more traditional religious systems, we are told to accept an eye for an eye and that we are allowed to inflict harm on those who inflict it on us.

Yet, here, those who do us harm or are generally not good by our definition deserve to be treated with the same kindness as the good person—having 德 (Dé, virtue, heart, kindness) is good. It is not good in a moral sense, but it is good in that it follows Tao’s example. This mindset is modeled after Tao’s actions inside nature.

Does the sun not shine brightly upon a murderer’s face? Does the beef not provide the same nutrients regardless of political or spiritual beliefs? Of course they do. Nature doesn’t play favorites or enact revenge for previous wrongdoings; it simply does what it does and always moves forward.

Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English
I have faith in people who are faithful.
I also have faith in people who are not faithful.
Because Virtue is faithfulness.

Derek Lin
Those who believe, I believe them
Those who do not believe, I also believe them
Thus the virtue of belief

David Hinton
I treat the sincere with sincerity
and the insincere too:
such is the sincerity of Integrity.

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The text gives a second example showing the same pattern—give faith to those who are both faithful and faithless because the Tao is faithful to all; be sincere to those who are insincere because the Tao is sincere to all.

In another real-world example, think of water. When an innocent newborn calf drinks from a stream, it receives the same bodily care as the venomous snake or the poisonous flower. Tao does not punish the snake or plant because it kills its prey— it only knows that all living things need cool, nurturing, and replenishing water.

Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English
The sage is shy and humble - to the world he seems confusing.
Others look to him and listen.
He behaves like a little child.

Derek Lin
The sages live in the world
They cautiously merge their mind for the world
The people all pay attention with their ears and eyes
The sages care for them as children

David Hinton
A sage dwells within all beneath heaven
at ease, mind mingled through it all.
The hundred-fold people devote their eyes and ears,
but a sage inhabits it all like a child.

An important distinction is that the phrase 歙歙 (xīxī, to draw in gently or softly converging) appears. Writing the character twice, back to back, emphasizes softly blending or gently contracting. Therefore, the sage gently, carefully, and easily blends their thoughts and mind with others in the world (天下, tiānxià).

We don’t bash our beliefs or ancient texts over others’ heads. Nor do we stand on street corners attempting to convert anyone who doesn’t share our views. Instead, the wise person, the follower of Tao, accepts and gently blends into the world around him. Just as the vine can bend and crawl up any building or fence, so too can we integrate ourselves with others, calmly and gently allowing others to share their lessons while we share ours.

The final sentence states that everyone pays attention to the sage because they recognize his wisdom. In the Chinese text, people especially use their eyes and ears to do this. In return, because everyone sees and listens to the sage, he treats them like 皆孩 (Jiē hái, all children).

This doesn’t mean punishing them when they act out of turn; it means nurturing them. The sage loves everyone who listens and cares for everyone who sees. Even though everyone is different and we divide ourselves into a thousand different groups, the sage looks past those divisions to see who we really are— people.

Raising my children taught me to embody this Taoist principle. Each child demanded unique care, from Madison’s love for strawberries to Allison’s need for car rides for sleep, yet I offered them equal devotion, guidance, and empathy. As they grow, I continue to treat them with the sage’s universal respect, mirroring the Tao’s care for all.

This wisdom extends to how we treat others, regardless of their actions or beliefs. The sage offers goodness to both the virtuous and the unvirtuous, sincerity to the sincere and insincere alike. Like nature, which provides rain to all without discrimination, the sage’s actions reflect the Tao’s impartial nurturing, encouraging us to embrace everyone with fairness and kindness.

My family embodies the diversity of Tao’s natural way, with each child carving their path while rooted in our shared bond. Madison’s grace in color guard, Grayson’s competitive spirit in volleyball and Fortnite, and Allison’s creative flair in art and acting reflect their unique spirits, shaped by tailored nurturing yet united by their parents’ unwavering love and support.

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If you like my writing, please tell me what you think. Do you agree with my interpretation of chapter 49? Did I leave anything out? Let me know!

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Weekly Preview

I hope you’re all having a great weekend! As always, here is a quick preview of what you can expect from me this week. I want to focus on my research this week by creating two deep dives. Usually, Monday is a deep dive article, while Wednesday is a memoir supported by Taoist ideas or concepts. However, I want to push myself to grow by changing up my workflow from time to time. It should be a slow week at work, giving me time to write more.

Monday
Article: A deep dive into Tao Te Ching chapter 49. How and why Tao treats everything equally.

Tuesday
Podcast: Narration and extra commentary regarding chapter 49.

Wednesday
Article: A deep dive on Tao Te Ching chapter 56. Wise people don’t speak; people who speak don’t know.

Thursday
Podcast: Narration and extra commentary regarding chapter 56.

Invitation for Engagement

Recently, my wife told me that my writing is very intimidating because my articles are always so intimate and personal.

While true, I would love to hear from you!

Whether it’s a like, comment, or personal DM through Substack, or a text through the Podcast description button, I love hearing from all of you.

Don’t be afraid to contradict my thoughts on Tao. We only learn by sharing what we know, and having others share in return. If you’re a Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, or anything in between I invite and welcome all schools of thought to let me know what you think.

If you’re not on Substack, feel free to interact with me on X (Twitter), Bluesky, and as of this week Instagram! Or just email me (patrick@thetaoistcorner.net)

A Gift For Paid Subscribers

I want to talk shop about paid subscriptions and their purpose going forward. I’ve said it hundreds of times over the last few years, but I do not believe in putting my writing behind a paywall. My posts, articles, and stories were written so that others could read them.

However, I want to honor those who, for no extra gain, have decided to support me financially. Paying an internet stranger on a semi-regular basis is a sign of trust between the paying reader and the creator. The payer trusts that the creator will put that money to good use and not always buy several hot dogs or a fancy steak.

So, on Friday, to honor and celebrate reaching 10 paid subscribers for the first time, I will do… something. I’m not sure yet, but I promise it will be emailed to those 10 members.

In the future, I will create a new online gift for paying subscribers at the beginning of each month.

It will not be an article, but here are some ideas.

1. Creating a piece of art and sharing its story.

2. A special long-form and edited video.

3. A free digital copy of my book (if interested, available here and here).

4. A Zoom call for meditation or study.

5. Something else entirely!

If I receive positive feedback on these monthly gifts and earn more paid subscribers, there’s a lot more I can do in the future.

My dream goal is to quit my job and share my writing and message full-time. I know that may never happen, but to those who support me financially, this will be the start of giving back.

Thank you all so much for reading, and I’ll see you all tomorrow!

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Thank you to everyone who tuned into my live video. I'll be back with my next live video on the Substack app next Friday.

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I don’t recommend having children before marriage. It seems like common sense, but you’d be surprised how often this happens. It happened to me.

I wasn’t planning on having children so soon after college, and my 19-year-old girlfriend, now wife, wasn’t either. But in July 2008, my first daughter came into this world kicking and screaming.

The first few months were a strange, disastrous rollercoaster. She had constant ear infections for six months, and my life became a continuous trip to pediatricians' offices, pharmacies, and eventually the hospital for having tubes put in her ears. After that, everything slowed down, and I took notice of smaller aspects I had missed previously.

For example, when Madison was seven months old, I noticed she would copy my emotional state. If I smiled and laughed, she smiled and laughed. If I was sad, she was sad and cried! It was surreal, and I felt terrible for performing such an experiment. However, I had to show her mother, just once.

I thought about that exchange between baby and father for hours. How could a child with no concept of language mimic a parent's emotional state? “It must be intuition,” I thought. Next, I pondered whether animals also have this attribute.

I watched YouTube videos of gorillas and other apes mimicking the faces of humans in zoos and dogs nudging sad owners. If people and animals can intuitively deduce each other's emotional states, what does that mean? Does it mean anything at all? Is it worth pondering?

Let’s get into it.

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I’m not alone in questioning this behavior. Zhuangzi, an ancient Chinese philosopher and scholar, also questioned whether it was possible to deduce someone or something else’s state of mind—he even wrote about it. Zhuangzi lived during the Warring States period, around the fifth century BCE.

Another philosopher at that time was Huizi, who enjoyed debates and logical puzzles. All of Huizi’s original work was lost to time, but Zhuangzi’s remains. As luck would have it, Zhuangzi wrote several stories regarding their interactions and friendly arguments.

Always the clown, Zhuangzi’s most famous interaction with his friend, Huizi, is whether or not Zhuangzi knew the mind of fish. Here is the story Victor Mair translated, with my minor adjustments for clarity.

Zhuangzi and Huizi were strolling along the bridge over the Hao River. Zhuangzi said, “The minnows swim about so freely, following the openings wherever they take them. Such is the happiness of fish.”

Huizi said, “You are not a fish, so how do you know the happiness of fish?”

Zhuangzi said, “You are not I, so how do you know I don’t know the happiness of fish?”

"I'm not you", said Master Hui, "so I certainly do not know what you know. But you're certainly not a fish, so it is irrefutable that you do not know what the joy of fishes is."

"Let's go back to where we started," said Master Chuang. "When you said, 'How do you know what the joy of fishes is?' you asked me because you already knew that I knew. I know it by strolling over the Hao."

This story contains a pun and a play on words in Chinese. The pun uses the Chinese symbol ān 安, which means both "how" and "where." So, at the end of the story, Zhuangzi uses this double meaning to playfully contradict his philosophical friend. Another translation by David Jordan translates ān to “from where.”

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The difference allows the pun to continue and changes Huizi’s question to, “Since you are clearly not a fish, from where do you know the joy of fish?” Zhuangzi retorts, “From where do I know the joy of fish?' From the bridge over the River Háo!" The punchline becomes a 2,500-year-old dad joke!

Beyond the pun, however, we can also analyze Zhuangzi’s answer philosophically. Remember, Madison knew I was sad simply by looking at me. She intuitively knew. Zhuangzi’s reasoning that he knows what fish feel is based on the same unspoken ability, and by placing it into words, we lose its true meaning.

This is Tao. We can not know Tao in a linguistic sense, but we can feel and sense it and allow it to flow through us. Children are masters of Tao, and as we age, we forget.

When I took my children to the park, if any other kids of any age were on the playground, they would instantly become friends, laughing, playing, telling stories, and pretending together.

There was no need for introductions, names, backgrounds, or judgments. All they cared about was that another child was playing, and they wanted to play too.

At the start of a new school year, after only the first day, my children came home with stories of new friends. I’d ask for the new friend’s name, only to be told they couldn’t remember. Names didn’t matter; actions and behaviors did. Names are created by the minds of our parents, but are not inherently real.

My parents were as likely to name me Steve or Joe as they were to name me Patrick. They could have called me Tree, Dog, or Rocking Chair, as none came from my flesh and blood. We gain names, nationalities, and religions from our parents, and while those are helpful to define our individuality, they do not flow outwardly from us naturally.

I know this is true because children don’t live this way. Kids allow Tao to flow outwardly, allowing deep personal connections to occur near instantaneously.

As adults, we intentionally reject this ability. Why? Racism, prejudice, injustice, religion, and trauma fuel our isolation and disconnectedness. These are taught to us by parents, adults, and others who have come before us.

Mistakes and problems are passed from generation to generation in an endless cycle of revenge. We lose trust in our intrinsic, natural, human connectedness through the Tao.

However, the connection is never lost, even in death, so it’s never too late to reopen our hearts and minds to the universe. As Zhuangzi stated, we already know we are connected even without words or being of the same species.

Yes, the tale is partially a joke, and Zhuangzi loves to turn Huizi’s logical arguments back around on him in several stories, but it doesn’t change the underlying message.

My daughter taught me this when she mirrored my sadness as a baby, and Zhuangzi reinforced it with his playful wisdom about fish.

Their lessons point to the same truth: we don’t need to name or define to understand. By letting go of our learned divisions, we can return to that childlike state where every encounter is an opportunity for connection, where Tao flows freely.

In those moments at the park or during a quiet evening with my kids, I’m reminded that this wisdom isn’t lost—it’s waiting. It’s in the way Madison laughs with a new friend or how she senses my mood before I speak. It’s in Zhuangzi’s grin as he teased Huizi by the river.

This unspoken bond, this flow of life, inspired a few lines that hold what I’ve learned.

If we unlearn ourselves, we learn each other. 
If we learn each other, we connect with Tao. 
If we connect with Tao, we become forever. 

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I’d absolutely love your support at any level that’s comfortable for you. Even if it’s only $1 per month.

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My wife loves puzzles, but I do not. She has a felt mat where she builds them and rolls up the mat after she’s done for the day. Then, when she’s ready, she’ll unroll the mat across the kitchen or dining room table and get back to work scouring a sea of cardboard for one tiny piece. Thousands of pieces of different shapes and colors cover our table some days. I’m always worried the dogs will pull the felt mat off the table, scattering a thousand tiny species all over the kitchen floor.

When we first married, my wife, Jessica, wanted puzzles to be an activity we did together. I don’t know if it’s some ADHD, anxiety, or both, but I hate putting puzzles together. I get bored and frustrated, and I wanted someone to tell me where the piece went! How could she expect me to find where a blue, dime-sized piece of paper fits among a sea of blue dime-sized pieces of paper?

However, because I always wanted to spend more time together, I agreed to help her with her puzzle a few times, maybe for an hour or two. After watching me fail to find a single connection while she completed entire rows, Jessica resigned to putting it together alone. I remember one such instance where she completed a massive puzzle, all by herself, only to find a single piece missing. Where did it go? Who knows.

We had multiple children under 7 years old then, and we weren’t the best cleaners in the world. In my mind, the puzzle was now ruined and useless, but my wife saw a job well done— hours spent examining, thoughtfully testing, and keeping her family company put into one 3x4-foot puzzle. To her, while she regretted losing only one piece, she felt a deep sense of accomplishment. I thought, how did she and I look at the same puzzle, live the same experience of its construction, yet come to two different conclusions?

In Taoism, a no matter which text you read, Laozi or Zhuangzi, you’ll discover an idea commonly referred to as the “uncarved block.” In Chinese, the character is pronounced, “pǔ,” (pooh). Pǔ is vitally important and is mentioned several times in Zhuangzi’s work and Laozi’s Tao Te Ching, the seminal text of Taoism. It’s so important that American author, and New York Times Best Seller, Benjamin Hoff wrote a book using Winnie the Pooh as the embodiment of pǔ named The Tao of Pooh.

I want to deeply examine pǔ today and explore its roots in Taoism.

Let’s get into it.

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Like all Chinese symbols, pǔ has different meanings based on it’s context. I’ll list a few of them:

• unworked (uncarved) wood

• cut down, felled trees

• nature; essence; intrinsic quality

• simple; plain; unadorned; unaffected

Growing up, we learn to be good people through rules, structure, and dogma. While there are times children are allowed to be their unfiltered, natural selves, more often parents teach their children through a series of “don’ts.”

Don’t put that in your mouth.
Don’t touch that.
Don’t come into my bedroom before 6 AM.
Don’t eat ketchup straight out of the container.

These are simple, obvious rules for safety and sanity. However, as children age, rules become more abstract, obtuse, and confusing.

Don’t have too many partners.
Don’t trust people who live in that country.
Don’t vote for that person.
Don’t believe in that religion.

In Taoism, there is a concern that the longer we allow societies and cultures to influence us, the further away from our true nature we grow— we lose ourselves.

A Chinese philosopher, Zhuangzi, wrote of the concept of the uncarved block. Zhuangzi lived before 286 BCE. Unlike Laozi, most scholars believe Zhuangzi existed and credit him for his work. While there are writings with his name whose authenticity is debated, the work ascribed to him without ambiguity is known as the Inner Chapters. A humorous and quick-witted writer, some prefer his storytelling method to the philosophical poetry of Laozi in the Tao Te Ching.

One of my favorite Zhuangzi stories is the crooked tree.

Huizi said to Zhuangzi, “This old tree is so crooked and rough that it is useless for lumber. In the same way, your teachings have no practical use!” Zhuangzi replied, “This tree may be useless as lumber, but you could rest in the gentle shade of its big branches or admire its rustic character. It only seems useless to you because you want to turn it into something else and don’t know how to appreciate it for what it is. My teachings are like this.”

Laozi, in Tao Te Ching chapter 28, defines it more poetically.

Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English
When the block is carved, it becomes useful.
When the sage uses it, he becomes the ruler.
Thus, "A great tailor cuts little."

As is so perfectly explained, nothing is useless. Every person and object can be utilized, but our cultural and personal ability to define the world around us limits our expectations. For example, the tree won’t make a serviceable boat, table, or chair in Zhuangzi's story because the wood is too crooked and rough. But Huizi expectation of uselessness fails to see the bigger picture. He only knows the tree can be turned into objects, but fails to understand that a tree is exactly what it needs to be.

What about our bodies? As doctors and scientists, we define how a human body should look, function, and act based on averages. If most people are 5’9”, then 5’9” is normal; shorter and taller people are now not normal. Perhaps a fancy word is prescribed to those who are not 5’9”, and maybe medications or surgeries are created to adjust their bodies.

What about mental health? Is the human too active, loud, outgoing, sad, happy, or unhappy? Does the person enjoy being alone, quiet, still, or solemn? Then medications and treatments are needed because the majority of bodies don’t work the same way.

Yet, when we look at a tree, it is perfect. It grew in the direction of sunlight—the direction of life. It had to grow that way because it’s the only way the tree knows. So too are our bodies. They grow the way they do because they have to. Barring injury or injustice, our bodies grow naturally all on their own. As someone who has a body that is VERY different from birth, let me be very clear:

The tree does not feel shame for having too many branches or anxiety for what object it might be turned into when it is dead. Why should a tree care if it was a seed before it sprouted or if its roots will become a new tree after it is dead?

A tree is a tree, and it is the best tree it can be.

It’s not enough to examine our physical self, however. We must also examine our potential and nature.

Nature and the universe are destructive and creative. So, too, are people. We murder, kill, destroy, but also birth, create, and save. Our existence mirrors the Tao. Let’s use a dog as an example.

Dogs might be the closest animal to Tao that we have regular contact with. Dogs experience a wide range of emotions like people, but when dogs see the sky, they only see the sky. Dogs don’t worry about a giant rock raining down on us or if the moon will move too far away. They also don’t stop to appreciate the blue sky or the white fluffy clouds. Dogs don’t worry about next week or regret last year. When my dog eats my food, he feels ashamed and puts his tail between his legs, yet mere minutes later, he is happy and ready to play and be petted.

When people do something wrong, we might remember it for decades. In fact, even though I’m 42 years old, I remember accidentally taking my shirt off in class when I was six years old in kindergarten. I was given a yellow behavior card for it and had to tell my parents what happened. I can still feel the embarrassment and shame over 35 years later. Do you think my dog worries about the scraps of pizza he stole off my plate last week? No, of course not.

Our true nature, the way Tao moves to create life, is not riddled with anxiety or stress. Those are conditions we create by the rules and expectations of ourselves or each other. Through dedicated and thoughtful practice, we can return to our natural state—to the uncarved block.

I’m not stating that you should act like a baby with your language or bathroom habits. Instead, I’m asking you to let go of what is not naturally you. Don’t allow others to change what you feel inside, no matter who it is. Only you know the true you. Only you know how you feel.

Sometimes, we have to unlearn our lessons to see our true nature, even when we must forget who we have become.

When we lose ourselves, we find ourselves.
When we unlearn, we become smart.

My wife doesn’t have much time to complete puzzles anymore. The kids have grown into teenagers, and our evenings are filled with volleyball in the spring and football in the fall. Now, the kids stay up later, and I’m usually asleep by 10:30 PM. So, the days of large puzzle making are over for now.

Puzzles come in several shapes and sizes. Most are paper or cardboard, but some are flesh and blood. Our lives often feel like a massive jigsaw puzzle that we are missing a piece to. However, the trick is to think more like my wife thought about that puzzle. Due to the world we are raised in, it’s natural to feel like a piece is missing sometimes, but it is not.

In embracing the philosophy of pǔ, we learn to see our lives as my wife saw her puzzle—not as incomplete or flawed, but as beautifully whole, even with a perceived missing piece. By letting go of societal expectations and returning to our natural, unadorned state, we can find peace in simply being, like a crooked tree that thrives in its own unique way. This perspective invites us to cherish our imperfections and trust that, like a puzzle, every piece of our existence fits perfectly in its own right.

Ultimately, the uncarved block reminds us that our true nature is enough. Taoism calls for us to live authentically and without pretense. By unlearning the rules that bind us, we can rediscover the simplicity and wonder of who we are, finding harmony in our lives’ beautiful, uncarved essence.

Do you want to encourage more learners to follow the Tao?

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April 27 - May 3: Zhuangzi Week!

Greetings readers and listeners!

This week I want to move beyond Laozi and Tao Te Ching and introduce you to Zhuangzi. If you read last weeks article on Wednesday, I mentioned him in my regarding death from a Taoists perspective. But this week, I want to cover some of his other stories and how they’ve connected to my life. As always, I’ll alternate days between writing and recording with a live stream on Friday during my lunch break.

Monday
Article: A deep dive on the uncarved block concept from Taoism.

Tuesday
Podcast: Narration and extra commentary regarding the uncarved block.

Wednesday
Article: The debate on the Joy of Fish. Can we ever really know something?

Thursday
Podcast: Narration and extra commentary regarding the Zhuangzi’s fishy debate.

Friday
Touch Grass Live Stream (featuring fast, at home, WIFI)

Archives in Style

You may have received a coming soon article yesterday, and if you did I apologize.

If you dig around in my previous work, you’ll not only notice a large gap in time where I didn’t write at all, but also many articles that don’t fit “The Taoist Corner.” That’s because they were imported from Medium.com and were written in different styles and genre’s as I learned to express myself. So, I’m moving those articles into a new publication on Substack called “Patrick’s Thoughtful Spot.”

New articles will stay in The Taoist Corner. Maybe one day I’ll feel inspired to return to different styles, but not right now.

It’s simply a place for me to separate my old, different genre, writings with my current work. If you do want to read what I was up to back then, you’ll find poems, short stories, and even vacation updates! It’s a real scatter shot of topics. If you’re ever curious, or you want to follow along as I import them, you can go to Patrick’s Thoughtful Spot at subscribe. Or just forget about it and keep being awesome!

Thanks for reading and I’ll see you guys tomorrow.

Sincerely,
Patrick Stewart